Waking Up
by muggleborn.dragon.ryder
Summary: Look, the way I see it, hibernating is a way of survival, and I never saw anything wrong with it before. Shutting my emotions down and forcing them to go to sleep just works for me, okay? I'm good at going to sleep, and staying that way for awhile, but the thing I never planned on was someone actually caring enough to wake me up... Rated T for abuse and some heavy angst.
1. Chapter 1

_**Waking Up**_

**A/N: Based off my own sadistic imagination and the fact that other people have done Once-ler being abused by Greedler fics, I decided to try my hand at it. But mine is slightly different, so bear with me. I don't read a whole lot of fics like these, because they normally turn to Oncest, and I'm not for that. I think the Greedler borders on Oncest just a bit, though. **

* * *

Far outside the Truffula forest, where the grass never grows and the wind smells slow and sour when it blows… And no birds ever sing, where no swan finds rest…this is where the Greedler sits and plots and does what he does best. Oh, a lonely crow or two might hawk at times, just to warn any foolish-looking passersby. "Don't come this road, it's paved with self-absorption and built off fear. Don't turn in please… the Greedler lives here."

There was a very good reason why the crows tried to warn any passersby. For if you traveled too far along this road, you'd begin to hear the screaming coming from inside, high-pitched, the sound of pure fear, chilling your blood. You would see the bloodred doors, golden letters spelling out the words 'the Greedler' above them. And if you were to knock upon those doors and enter without consent – for the Greedler hardly ever gave consent – you would hear the screams instantly giving way to soft muffled sobs. For the screamer knew deep in his gut to hush the minute anybody entered the house. The Greedler would adjust his gloves and give the screamer a cold smile, as if nothing had happened, before checking to see who was at the door. He would keep his hands behind his back, not in a simple gesture or mannerism, but to hide the bloodstains on the green silk.

And the screamer, known to so pitifully few as the Once-ler, would shrink down against the wall and pray the Greedler would not come back. For his throat was already raw from screaming and he didn't want to scream anymore.

But the worst of it wasn't the physical part: the hitting, the kicking, the punching or even, when things were really bad, the bone breaking, the cutting or the burning. It was the verbal part that he hated most, the parts where the Greedler would tell him things ask him if he was enjoying it. He would run a finger under the young boy's chin, lean in close and whisper, "You look so beautiful with all this _blood_."

Lately, the Once-ler had become better at keeping the tears back, and his screams of pain had stopped. He hadn't built up any sort of tolerance to the pain, no. But he had become used to it, and he learned that the Greedler liked his screams. He didn't like them and he found himself wishing he could cut out his own tongue whenever he gave one. But of course, he reflected moodily, the Greedler would probably do that to him in time, and it wouldn't keep him from screaming anyway. You didn't need a tongue to yell out in pain.

At least, he'd always thought that the Greedler would one day cut out his tongue, or do something equally gruesome, but the Greedler never did. No matter how angry he was, he simply would not allow himself to hurt the Once-ler's face; only swift smacks on the cheek with the flat of his hand were allowed, in his mind. Those didn't leave scars. Only welts and bruises, and those were certainly allowed.

But there were other things, not just physical or verbal, but little things that made the Once-ler despise the Greedler even more. Some days, he honestly felt pity for the man in the green suit, the man who had lost everything. Other days, when the beatings were particularly bad, he couldn't remember how to feel anything except the horrible throbs all over his body.

And the Greedler called him 'Oncie'. Such a small thing, something most could easily overlook in favor of all the other things to see about the Greedler. But the eighteen-year-old simply could not ignore the nickname, because it reminded him of his mother, and the life he'd left behind there. Part of him wished he'd never left home. If he hadn't, he wouldn't be in this situation now.

He wondered if his mother would even care. If she never heard from her son again, if she never even knew if he was still alive out there somewhere, would she even care? Would she worry about him, try to call him or write him? Would she even make an attempt at contacting him, or just give up on him? It wasn't like he wasn't used to people giving up on him. His mother, she had been giving up on him for eighteen years. And every time, her rejection shot another needle-like stab of pain through his heart.

But he still wanted her to try. He wanted her to make an effort to find him if he didn't turn up, yet he knew that that wasn't going to happen. If he didn't call her first, she would assume he had probably been unsuccessful and was too ashamed to face the family. Or maybe she'd think he was dead. Would she have a celebration? he wondered to himself, surprised to find himself thinking bitter thoughts.

Hell, for all he knew, he _could_ be dead by the time she realized how long he had been gone. How long _had_ it been? He knew the Greedler kept a calendar in the room, tacked up on the wall, but was it even worth it to attempt to get up and check it? He didn't even know what day it was, how would he be able to know how long he had been gone?

He heard the double doors from downstairs opening and he slowly rose to his feet. If he wanted to know the date without having to ask the Greedler, he'd better do it now. He looked at the calendar above him, barely registering the rather depressing picture of the palm tree, its leaves blowing in the wind as his eyes shot straight to the month: August.

He had left in May. He sank slowly back down to the ground. He had a phone with him, and he had been gone almost four months. His mother knew his number…why hadn't she called? Had she assumed he'd had no luck with his thneed, and decided he wasn't even worth calling if he couldn't make money? Maybe that was true, he thought to himself. The Once-ler wasn't worth much even on a good day, but a penniless, depressed and thneed-sporting Once-ler was probably at the same value as the dust on the ground.

The thought made him sad, the thought that he wasn't worth anything. He sighed, letting a few tears fill his eyes, blurring his vision. Things in his family hadn't always been perfect, but at least all his mother did was tell him he would never amount to anything. That had been the extent of it and, if you didn't count the occasional blows he took when he made her too angry, or when he mouthed off to Brett and Chett, he had had a reasonably okay life up until now. And he knew he'd rather go back to living with his family than living here, in the Greedler's house.

Why had he turned down the street where nothing stirred, not even a breath of wind? Why, when he had been riding Melvin that day, why had he taken that left fork in the road? He could've gone straight, or taken the right fork. But he'd taken the left one, and that was the cause of all this trouble. Too obsessed with finding the perfect material, too blinded by visions of success, he had unknowingly stumbled across the Greedler's house. And no one who entered the Greedler's house ever came out again.

He shuddered just thinking about it, but what upset him even more was remembering Melvin, his faithful mule. His only friend in the whole world, and the Greedler had carelessly slaughtered him without a second thought.

He remembered crying that night, mourning the poor animal. He remembered the Greedler's cold, gloved fingers caressing his cheek, whispering to him. _"Don't worry, Oncie, that old mule was just dead weight."_

"_He was my friend!" The Once-ler still found a spark of defiance within himself, that spark that was not always immediately visible upon seeing him. "He wasn't dead weight!" _

"_Oncie," the Greedler's cold smirk was horrible to see. "Just trust me, what happened was for the best."_

"_He was my friend and you killed him," snapped the Once-ler. "Leave me alone." _

That had been the start of the first beating.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Waking Up**_

**A/N: I considered leaving this a one-shot, but I heard the most perfectest song for this story, which is 'Monster' by Meg & Dia, and I was like, okay, I need to continue this and I have a mighty need for Onceler pain, so yeah. Sorry about this. **

* * *

"Oncie?"

He cringed, not wanting to answer to the hated nickname, but knowing he must. "Yes?"

"Come here." The Greedler beckoned him with one hand, but with the other, he seemed to be holding something in the folds of green silk. The Once-ler couldn't see what it was, but he dared not ask as he slowly, unwillingly walked over.

The Greedler's fingers went to his neck, fastening something around him. "I have a mission for you, Oncie."

"What kind of mission?" The Once-ler's voice cracked from lack of use.

The Greedler slowly took his hands away from the boy's neck, putting a green-gloved hand instead on his cheek. "You're going out of the house without me. Do you think you can handle that, Oncie?"

The Once-ler's heart leaped and he nodded eagerly. At last, he'd be allowed to go back home!

"However," the Greedler added sharply, tapping the strange object fastened around the boy's neck. "One step out of line, one breath out of boundaries and this little beauty will give you a little…reminder. Should you like a demonstration?"

The Once-ler shook his head, his hope dissipating as his hand flew to his neck, trying to explore the leather band. His fingers slipped from the rough material, his attention going back to the Greedler.

"That'll keep you in line," the Greedler declared with a twisted smile. "Now, here's what I want you to do…."

* * *

Well, the Once-ler observed grimly, the sky was still blue and the grass was still green. The Once-ler had never been down this path before, and certainly not without the Greedler by his side, watching his every move. He glanced out over the beautiful valley, the axe dragging at his side.

There were trees of the likes of which he had never seen before, with bright pink tufts instead of those boring, dead brown leaves and sometimes a rare blue or green. Orange, red and pink proved to be the most common as he looked out over the valley, but there was also a bit of yellow liberally sprinkled amongst the colorful landscape. He thought it was the most beautiful place he'd ever seen – nothing short of paradise.

He remembered bitterly when he'd been searching for the perfect material for his thneed, just a few months back. He'd been mere yards away from the paradise he'd searched for, and now, to come here under the orders of the Greedler… it just seemed cruel. Why did fate have to hate him so much?

Despite the beauty of the day, the bitter thoughts did not stop. He looked about himself at the place, and he felt an odd squeezing in his chest, that empty cavity where his heart should be. It hadn't hurt him like this for so long that it was odd to feel it doing so again, after so many weeks of silence.

The animals that frolicked in the valley gave him sideways looks when they saw his axe gleaming in the sunlight, but he hardly cared anymore. He needed to get out of here. He wanted to stay here, wanted it more than he could ever remember wanting anything, except maybe his mother's love.

He genuinely wanted this, this beautiful peace that seemed to surround this place. It was as if this place had never met such cruelty as the Greedler. The place looked too innocent for that, too new and sharp and clear.

Yet he knew he belonged outside of this forest just as much as the Greedler did. He didn't belong in a place as beautiful as this.

He let his axe fall to the ground with a heavy thump, leaving it behind. The weapon was heavy, and in the end it would only slow him down when he tried to run. Besides, he thought to himself, adjusting his fedora, the Greedler would want it back when he realized that the Once-ler was long gone.

Probably to chop off heads, he added to himself with a slight shudder.

More than that, the questions that had plagued him last night still bothered him this morning. Why didn't the Greedler simply stroll in here himself if he wanted a tree cut down and brought back to his place so badly? Why had he let Once-ler out of the house? He was normally so careful at keeping him locked away…what had made him change his mind?

Once-ler reached the edge of the valley and took one last longing look at the place. It was beautiful, with the sunlight hitting the water just right, making it sparkle and glimmer. The birds flying overhead were mere orange specks in that brilliant blue sky and the trees seemed to be reaching for them, offering them a place to rest with their vividly colored tufts.

And then Once-ler remembered the allotted time for this task: five hours. Risky, the Greedler knew, and this thought had shown on his face, but the trees looked heavy and Oncie was thin as a broom, he'd reasoned. But that wasn't his fault. The boy just didn't eat. And even when he did, it wasn't like his body held onto the nourishment very long.

At the thought of his five hours, the Once-ler shook himself, turning his attention to the outside. For the first time in a long time, there was a genuine smile tugging at his lips. He could taste the freedom in the air.

The air was so fresh and clear and beautiful that he took in lungful after lungful like a dying man, his smile growing wider with each breath he took, every thump of his shoes on the grass.

He threw himself recklessly forward, over the border of the valley, plunging into the open air.

But the Greedler hadn't been lying. The moment the Once-ler's shoe made contact with the grass, the pain started. It reverberated through his body, up and down, wave after wave of agony. Somewhere through the pain, he registered that the Greedler had warned him about this, told him, "one breath out of boundaries…"

This must be out of boundaries, then.

He turned suddenly on his heel, running for the valley again, collapsing against the nearest tree. His mouth tasted of metal, and he felt frustrated enough to scream. How could he have been so stupid? Pulling at the leather band confirmed what he'd suspected all along: shock collar. He groaned, a bit of the electricity sparking feebly where his fingers touched the fabric, threatening to shock him again. It seemed hot to the touch after just being activated.

He stood up, managing to put a hand on the tree trunk to keep himself steady. His long legs were shaking beneath him from the aftershock.

He tried three more times that day to cross the border, and every time it ended with him running right back to that tree, at times even collapsing to his knees before he reached it. His legs just refused to hold him up, and the shock collar wasn't going to relent.

When it became clear that he couldn't leave the valley, he rose unsteadily from his position and began to stalk back into the woods, squinting around for the axe. He knew it was risky, but if he couldn't leave this forest with the collar on, he would just have to find some way to get it off.

Yes, he realized with a sigh. There was a keyhole on the side of the collar, but he was sure that the only person who had the key was the Greedler, and there was no way he was getting it back from him.

When he found the axe lying upon the ground, he slowly picked it up, feeling its weight in his hands. A sudden breeze stirred up dust, blowing his dark bangs into his eyes. Sweeping them away again and tucking them up under the hat that he never seemed to remove, he rested a finger on the tip of the blade for a moment, checking its sharpness.

Instantly the blood began to trickle out and he swallowed in fear. This wasn't going to be easy, but he just needed to get the stupid thing off. And then he would be a free man…


End file.
